


to drown in your love (and not feel your rain)

by zenithaurora



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Heavy Angst, I Was Feeling Pretentious When I Wrote This, Identity Issues, Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Minor Mai/Zuko, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, POV Second Person, Self-Esteem Issues, Ty Lee (Avatar)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenithaurora/pseuds/zenithaurora
Summary: She makes fun of you for sticking emotions where there is no emotion. At least your eyes don’t resemble the stone that forms the cliff under the sea.She calls you overemotional and the clouds turn back to grey, but unlike her, at least you get to see the colors in the morning.
Relationships: Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar)
Kudos: 22
Collections: Winter ATLA Femslash Week 2021





	to drown in your love (and not feel your rain)

**Author's Note:**

> The abuse warnings are for real. It's not romanticized at all, but if you feel like this type of content might upset you, I recommend not to read it.

You don’t belong in this place; that it’s something that you learn soon after arriving.

At home, you’re just another number (was it four? Five? You can’t remember), you’re just another mouth to feed. Your own parents probably don’t remember your name; sometimes, you believe they don’t even bother to try. You shut down that voice quick, but not quick enough to avoid snapping the thin tendrils that are keeping your soul whole.

That is when you meet her. She is a princess, third in the line for the throne. She commands an alluring and dominating aura wherever she goes, and her effect works on you too. Her power it’s both admirable and fearsome, and you want nothing more in the world than to be close to her, because that it’s the only time in your life you will ever experience what it means to be recognized as an individual rather than one piece of a matched set.

For some unexplainable reason, she likes you, she chooses you. You don’t know whether that feeling in your stomach it’s nervousness or just plain dread.

You get invited to the palace, and right after you arrive, you feel out of place like a flying dolphin fish, but instead of bouncing on the water, you drown in the shallows. You beam at her; she smirks back. _‘On with the show’_ she tells you, and you give her your best. You tumble and leap around the garden until sweat drips like waterfalls from your forehead and soak the delicate fabrics of your pink clothes. Pink has always been your color and only yours; that it’s something you will never let your sisters steal from you. She claps, somewhat sarcastic, somewhat genuine. That is how you become her favorite jester.

-

You are six and you have become best friends. She rescues you from your home and give you a meaning, a purpose, a name. Her love is conditional on how she has been treated before you arrive. More often than not, she yells at you; you are understanding, as she can’t yell back at those she wants to shout her deepest hurt.

You take it in with your arms wide open; she acknowledges your existence and you are her chosen mirror to vent. You are what she needs and she is what you need. That is what you tell yourself anytime she makes you leak acid rain from your eyes and your lungs shrink like dried fruit. You need her and she needs you.

You are both six, and in spite of the weapons coming out of her mouth, she is your best friend and you need her as much as she needs you.

-

You are eight and someone new has been introduced to what used to be only ‘us’, changing the rules of the game without warning. You don’t feel jealous, but you can notice how your best friend it’s fascinated by this new girl, who is apathetic to life itself and seems to rejoice in the gloom of a night without a moon. You can feel her pulling away from you, and the strings keeping you standing start being cut off by her scissors. You wonder if it’s normal to feel like this the moment her presence threatens to disappear and replace your spot with someone better.

Nevertheless, you keep yourself tied together with a smile, and play the role of her favorite jester. You finally have someone to make you feel like a person, and you are not willing to let go just yet. Even if she gets angry and pushes every time you are capable of doing a cartwheel and she isn’t. You keep on standing up, again and again.

-

The new girl has a crush on the prince, that much it’s obvious, and the prince seems to like her back. You let out a sigh of relief; if the girl has the boy’s attention on her, that means she can’t take away the princess’ attention from you. Your body lightens and you are floating with every touch of her fingertips, every sound of her lips that calls for you. You are not going to lose her, and she is not going to dispose of you.

She realizes the new girl has a crush on her brother. You can practically see the gears in her brain working at fast speed, and you know that, whatever she chooses to do next, can’t be good. She turns to you and your body straightens on command. She requests your help, and tells you about her plan. That is something you learned early on your friendship; she is always planning something, in the shadows, pulling all the puzzle pieces together until it’s moment to strike.

You nod and laugh with her. It feels good to laugh.

She calls for her brother, who is walking with their mum. She says her speech; she has certain skills that make everyone want to do whatever she orders. She calls it her given birthright. You wish you were gifted with such power. Her mum complies, and you think you see a small smile paint over her lips. It’s probably the first time you had ever seen smile.

She yanks the girl from her sitting position under the willow tree and takes her to stand up in front of the fountain. She isn’t happy; well, she is never happy, but she always seems to get grumpier whenever she has to interact with your best friend, and yet, she complies as well.

She places an apple on top of her head, and sends a fire blast in her direction, igniting the fruit. She is a skilled firebender with a deadly precision, powered by a nimble mind. You are fascinated. Her brother reacts fast, and pounces himself over her, throwing the two of them in the fountain. They are both soaking and seething with, but she laughs so you laugh as well. It feels good to laugh.

-

You are ten and your body is tired. You no longer know if it’s better to suffer in silence in the invisibility of your home or if it’s better to be here and be the center of her attention.

In the blink of the sunrise, life in the palace changes forever. Her mother is missing, and the Fire Lord is declared dead. Her father takes over the throne. You are forced to witness the coronation like everyone else besides you. You ponder who wants to be here by blind loyalty and who is terrified of being caught in the deceits of their minds.

You see how she interacts with her father. You can tell the reverence and fear in her eyes, mixed together like they are only one motivation. For a moment you feel sorry for her. You wonder if her cruelty it’s part one of her natural features, like her straight nose, or if it’s ingrained by the specter that hangs over her bedframe, haunting her dreams, in the shape of someone that is meant to love her but doesn’t. Then she unleashes the cruelty she receives tenfold on you and you choose not to think at all.

You know she didn’t like her mother. In her words, she was the weakling in the family, that one piece that never belonged. You see her brother walking with his head high, but you can notice from a mile away the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes flutter incessantly side to side. He is scared and she is stone cold. She might hate her mother, but you think her father is far worse.

She makes fun of you for sticking emotions where there is no emotion. At least your eyes don’t resemble the stone that forms the cliff under the sea.

She calls you overemotional and the clouds turn back to grey, but unlike her, at least you get to see the colors in the morning.

-

Rumors run fast in the palace; whispers that don’t reach the ears of people like you who like to escape in the depths of your imagination. You hear hushed fearful voices, snickering mockeries, vicious raucous laughter, but it seems that everyone is talking about the same topic. You walk down the halls of the palace with your head down and no pretentions of getting yourself involved in matters that are above you.

You reach the garden. It’s usually the only place that feels free of this prison, an oasis in the middle of this desert made out of metal. However, when you get there, the atmosphere is heavy and the turtleducks stay away from the shores of the pond; the weeds have tangled in its foundations, destroying its purity and tranquility.

Something it’s really wrong.

The princess is talking to the gloomy girl. Her head is held high and her arms are clasped together, tight against her back. Her voice sounds as melodious and detached as always, but there is that slight edge at the end of each word that reveals something more, hiding just beneath the surface.

You are not sure what she is saying, but the winds change and the gloomy girl does something you would have never expect her to do: show emotion. Her face contorts grotesquely, with storms pouring out of her eyes and hoarse curses shooting out of her mouth. If she was a firebender, you know she would have set the garden ablaze already. Then she does something even more out of the grips of reality; her knees shake and she falls to the ground as she covers her face with her hands.

The princess leaves, and you have no choice but to comfort the grieving girl that is coming undone in your callow arms.

-

You are twelve when you can’t take it anymore.

Everyone in your family have a role; you don’t. It’s a simple matter of fact; if you don’t stand out, you fade in the crowd. You can be assured that your family won’t care much. There is that cruel and precise voice in your head that tells you that your family won’t notice your absence for weeks; they will probably never realize you no longer exist in their life.

The princess is more vicious than ever before. The words ‘evil and ‘wicked’ cross your mind like shooting stars in an empty night, but you tell yourself she doesn’t deserve to be called that. In every stab of her sharp tongue, you tell yourself she is only hurting and you can take her insensitivity all in good fun. Nevertheless, your fortitude is thinning with every arrival of her battleships to your shores, and you don’t think you can last that much longer until you become an arid, barren land.

You recall a time back in your younger years before you realized you didn’t exist in your parents’ aspirations, before you met her and you stopped belonging solely to you.

Your aunt taught you about auras and vibrations and how to read them. You remember giggling and bouncing on the balls of your feet when she told you had a special pink aura. Your aunt was always considered an odd woman; never married, never had children, and abandoned the confinements of the city to live in the woods near the ports where the breeze is cold and free.

She was the only one to understand you.

You didn’t understand much about the meaning of your aura back then; frankly, you still have issues grasping some of the most basic concepts. All you know it’s that your aura it’s no longer a bright pink. It has dulled with the years, to the point that it almost looks a greyish beige now.

The gloomy girl has a dark grey aura.

You want your bright pink aura back.

You pack your belongings in a small bag and leave.

-

Life at the circus it’s… not what you expected.

You walk out of your home without giving it the luxury of one last glance. You haven’t looked back ever since.

Surviving on the road is a challenge. In spite of your empty roaring stomach threatening to devour you from the inside out and the unnerving looks you receive in the alleys of some shabby towns, you had never felt this free before.

One fortunate day, you stumble on a colossal strangely-shaped building made out of pink and red fabrics. You are attracted to it, and it doesn’t take long for the owner of the circus to invite you in. You do what you know to do best and perform: cartwheels and flic flacs, and any variety of walkover and headspring you can think of in the spur of the moment. The man is impressed with your abilities, and you get hired in the spot. Everything becomes lighter and your body unwinds.

You are still the jester, but your performance it’s for everyone to see.

You find your beacon in the mist.

-

You are fourteen and she comes back.

You are practicing your headstand on your index fingers when she shows up uninvited and throw everything off balance in the worst way possible. You stand up in a twirl and bow to her. Your voice is borderline shrilling and you make sure of keeping a smile plastered on your face. Whatever happens, whatever she says, you are not giving in.

Then you hug.

You don’t want to like her, you don’t want to want her, but you can’t deny the odd comfort that her arms wrapped around your torso brings to you. You keep on practicing your forms in front of her, if only for the nostalgia of when the show was only meant for her eyes to see. She asks why are you here. In an afterthought she mentions your family and your throat aches a little. She criticizes your home, and you pretend you don’t mind.

She prepositions for you to join in her mission to capture her uncle and her brother. You haven’t even heard of them since they left the Fire Nation years ago, and here she is asking you to come with her.

You are stronger now. You have lived away from her long enough to learn how to say no to her.

You try deny her request in a way that sounds remorseful, even mentioning your aura. You don’t think she remembers about auras and deep down, you know she probably never cared about them. Nevertheless, you hold your ground. She seems to accept your decision, and the astonishment that hits your body is quickly replaced by an immense gratitude.

Then she invites herself to your show. The old familiar dread sets in the pit of your stomach. You only tell her that you would love to see her at your show.

-

You know you should have expected something of the ordinary to happen, and yet, you are surprised.

The show started as it usually did, with you balancing with only one hand high on the air. You exchange hands like you always do, waiting, expecting, hoping for things to follow its regular course. The net is set on fire, and you swear you can feel the flames on your face, burning the pores of your cheeks and forehead.

She did it; you have no proof, but you also have no doubt.

Then the animals are set loose and the answer becomes too obvious to deny otherwise.

You are sitting in front of your personal mirror, staring at the bouquet of black flowers lying on your desk, mocking the lack of courage in your decisions. She comes to congratulate you in your performance, but your experience makes it easy for you to detect the edge and precise cadence in her voice that gives away her true intentions.

You rise your head from the flowers, and don’t recognize the pathetic shadow staring back at you. You smile, and talk in that sweet, detached tone that she enjoys so much. You tell her that you are officially changing careers; you are leaving the home you formed at the circus to join her in her mission. You don’t need to look at her in the eyes to know she got what she wanted yet again.

Maybe you are still weak after all.

-

You are fourteen and you wonder if this is how the rest of your life is going to be.

You are treated and cared for, almost like a princess. You have servants on call for every type of service imaginable. Your hair hasn’t been this silky and glimmering since you left your family. Your nails are well-trimmed and covered by a thin layer of a transparent nail varnish. You no longer have calluses on your palms, product of your hard work at the circus. You miss them.

At some point, it seems that the mission has changed. They are no longer after her brother and her uncle, but rather, the Avatar. You are not stupid; you remember what you were taught at the academy. You are aware of his raw, devastating power and how his only objective is to destroy the Fire Nation. However, your convictions waver with every new encounter against him and his friends; deep down, you just need to know that your nation, and thereby her, stand correct.

You also know what the Avatar means to her and to her position in the family. With her brother banished and her cousin dead, she is next in line for the throne. Capturing the Avatar and bringing him to the Fire Nation as a prisoner would cement her place. You wonder if she believes that if by doing that, she could make her dad treat her like a daughter rather than a soldier.

You don’t dare to ask.

-

The Avatar is dead.

She killed him.

You are all going home, her brother as a hero, her uncle as a traitor and she as the mastermind behind all this. You know this is what was going to happen when you chose to join her mission, and yet, something feels wrong.

She comes to you at the deck and you smile.

You are back to the palace where you spent most of your childhood. It just the way it was, but the celebrations feel hollow.

Day by day, every little thing that belonged to your life at home disappear. The air is warmer where you are now, but you had never felt this cold before.

-

You are going to the beach. That is an unexpected development. Then again, now that the Avatar is dead and the war is almost won, there is no much for the rest of you to do but to take a vacation.

The dry, salt air hits your skin and flows through the tiny spaces of your braid as the ship reaches the shores of Ember Island. She stands next to you with her arms crossed and she admits that her family used to vacation here. Everything about her screams relaxed and you feel unease. That is a word you would never associate with her greater-than-life demeanor. You are curious, but you keep your concerns buried.

-

Soon you find out, wherever you go, boys lavish you with attention. At the beach, they place and accommodate your mat on the sand and stand in front of you to protect you from the sun. At the parties, they can’t stop talking to you and offering you drinks. It’s overwhelming, but you can’t deny the immense pleasure that being the center of attention brings to you.

She doesn’t like it.

You prepare your body and mind for her retaliation.

Her words are cutting on your scabbed scars and she knows it. She has long mastered the skill of weaponizing every single part of you. You have learned to keep your weaknesses hidden, but sometimes, you can’t help but to feel.

In a rare demonstration of empathy, she tries to comfort you. You are not sure if it’s a just another calculated move in her game, but you long for that small flicker of genuine affection and concern that shows up unannounced in the back of her gaze. She admits she feels jealous and you can’t believe it: why would someone like her, powerful and beautiful, be jealous of someone like you? Regardless, you reassure her in her insecurities and decide to help her learn how to flirt. It feels so simple, like this is how it’s supposed to be between friends.

-

You walk away from the bonfire. You have heard every attack to your deepest hurt and you are not willing to subject yourself to it anymore. They can mock you for being a circus freak all they want; she is the only one that has actually experienced some sort of freedom in her life, and they know it.

She comes to sit beside you on the sand. She apologizes, and you can’t detect any sharpness or edginess in the cadence of her voice. You start to hope that maybe she means it. One of her hands interlaces with your fingers. Suddenly, her lips are on yours. They are so soft, a remarkable contrast with everything else that characterizes her. You hesitate for the split of a second, and then you kiss her back, rejoicing in her rare moment of genuine affection.

You leave Ember Island short after trashing someone else’s party. It’s probably the happiest you’ve been since you joined her.

Your brain is more jumbled than before. One moment you are floating, one moment you are sinking, and sometimes, neither of those things, as if you were in some sort of vacuum with no notion of time or space.

You are still not sure how to feel about the kiss.

-

Things never seem to remain the same for long nowadays and your body have a hard time grasping to something solid as time flashes by.

The Avatar is alive.

Her brother has abandoned the nation to join him.

You wait for her outside the throne room. You don’t want to imagine what her father must have told her after he found out she lied about the condition of the Avatar. In his eyes, a fearful lie it’s a sign of betrayal. You don’t hear yelling, but when she comes out, she is harder around the edges and her eyes are guarded.

Gone are the passing glimmers of affection in her arms and words. It reminds you of the time after her mother left, and you ask yourself what is she feeling. You beg internally for her to let you in, but you are too scared to say this out loud.

She is meaner and crueler, and for the first time, you are actually scared of her _and_ for her.

You extend your hand.

She pushes it away.

You expected it.

It still hurts.

-

You never talk about the kiss and she never bring it up.

You spend the majority of your hours by her side. Yet, it feels like you and her are in different worlds.

You give up.

-

It all comes crashing down one day.

Tension has been running high after the return of the Avatar. Her father spends his days barking orders like a rabid armadillo bear. She is stone cold, taking in his commands and shooting at everyone that dares to get close to her. You tend to spend your days next to her, begging for her to stop, to run, but at this point, it hurts too much to hope.

You go with her to the Boiling Rick, a maximum-security prison in the Fire Nation; it’s said no one has ever escaped from there before. She has been notified that her brother was discovered disguising himself as a guard, so you and your friend go with her. Her demeanor is calm, but there is a certain smugness seething beneath her skin.

As soon as you arrive, your friend leaves to go to the east wing where the interrogation cells are. You hesitate for a moment, but then you notice the determination settled in your friend’s eyes. You turn your head and follow her instead.

You enter the cell where an inmate is being interrogated by the warden. He fumes at the interruption, but he apologizes profusely when he realizes he has just cursed at the princess. An interrogatory that has been going on for hours is quickly resolved by her declaration that the man is not the traitor. You have always been amazed by her skills at reading people and making it work at her benefit.

Now you fear her them.

You hear a commotion taking place outside and you run besides her without questioning it.

-

They, her brother and his companions, manage to escape and you feel lighter. They are not going to die. Their deaths it’s not going to be your fault. Their survival it’s not thanks to you either, but your mind feels lighter regardless.

Your friend fought all the guards by herself, knowing the consequences that committing treason entitles. She knows that the rest of her life will be spent here behind bars. If she wasn’t a noble or the niece of the warden, she would probably have been subject to a public execution.

You watch the confrontation between her and your friend with your hands clasped together, pressed against your mouth in an attempt to subdue the small whimpers that hang on the tips on your lips. You whole body is shaking like a leave in autumn season and your breaths come in and out uneven. 

She remains cool and calculating besides you, just a mild irritation impregnating the tone of her tone. That is, until your friend shoots at her deepest insecurity: her love for her brother it’s greater than her fear towards her.

You know what is going to happen.

The hair on your nape stands up as soon as you notice the change in her demeanor. Like dominos pieces falling on the board, her mask of detachment forsakes her and the fury in her sight shows itself. You have been scared of the cunning and deceitful version of her, but this version, the one that is marked by her madness and unpredictability, fills you with crippling dread.

She puts her index and middle finger together, ready to attack. Your friend takes out one of her knives, ready to deflect any fire blast or lightning thrown at her. You know she is going to kill her.

You already know your decision before you make it.

She is never going to forgive you.

You throw two precise punches to block her chi paths, one on her upper back and another one on her left side, and watch her fall. Before you can attempt to escape, dozens of guards surround you. The fight has left you and you let yourself being taken as a prisoner.

She commands them to incarcerate you and leave you to rot.

She is never going to forgive you, but you already knew that.

-

The cell prison you are trapped in is a concrete cube with no windows, no viable communication with the world outside. It was designed as a perfect product of pure hatred and sadism; you can see it in the paint that is chipping off the walls and the rotting stench of sewage water that burns your nostrils in the middle of the night when your head is pressed against the rags they have given you for a pillow.

You spend your days staring at the walls, trying to find any imperfection in the positioning of the rocks and the layering of the cement. You know that time is passing but you can’t remember the last time you have felt the sunlight warming the paleness of your flesh, or the moonlight reflecting stars on your grey eyes.

The last thing you remember from the outside were her cruel words, ordering the guards to let you decay here for the rest of your life until you’re nothing but spiritless bones. No shame, no regret— she meant what she said.

You linger your finger on the crack on the floor, back and forth, over and over again, until sleep takes over you. You dream of vast meadows and pink and red tents, and trapeze and animals and past friends. You had what you wanted; freedom and a sense of belonging, with neither of those things ever contradicting each other.

Yet, you threw it all away.

Maybe you didn’t deserve it at all.

This is your home now.

This is your life now.

You wake up from your restless slumber and trace the crack again and again, hoping for your exhaustion to take over your body.

-

The war is over.

You can’t believe your ears when one of the guards tell you. The war, the one that has been raging for the past hundred years, has ended.

She is imprisoned.

You ache and feel relief all at once.

You are being let out under orders of the new Fire Lord. You can’t believe it, but when the sun hits you on your face for the first time in what seems a lifetime, you think your heart may start believing it.

-

You join the Kyoshi Warriors shortly after you are released. You know they are apprehensive of your true intentions, and you don’t blame them; you wouldn’t trust them if you were in their positions. You promise yourself you are going to make up for it; you are going to prove you are reliable and worthy.

The Avatar and his friends accept you in their group far quicker than you would have expected. No one talks to you with intentions of uncovering your insecurities and use it against you. Your back doesn’t tense around them. You are not floating or sinking; you are grounded and firm on your feet, and you can breathe with your full chest unashamed.

They invite you over tea and a game of Pai Sho.

You say yes.

-

It’s almost two years after the war ended when you decide to visit her. Ever since her defeat, she has been staying at a mental facility in the grounds of the palace. Your heart breaks for her, but the pain feels distant enough that you trust yourself to not make a foolish decision.

Her brother has explained to you that she is doing better nowadays, and that her therapists believe she doesn’t need a restraining jacket anymore (you cringe at the idea of a restraining jacket). Nevertheless, she is being monitored by trained fighters every hour, on the unlikely chance that she might decide to attack someone. So far, she has only been allowed contact with her brother, her mother, and her uncle. You are the first non-blood-related person to visit her.

The topic came out in a conversation with him weeks ago, when she was guarding his bed chamber with another Kyoshi warrior. He is aware of the pain she has caused on you (you told him one night), but he insisted that his sister needed this to get better, and that the conversation could be as short as you could handle. In the end, you gave in, with the condition that the meeting would be on your own terms.

You are not weak, but a part of you will always care about her.

One of the guards direct you deep into the palace to the facilities where she is currently residing. They slide the heavy doors open for you. Trepidation it’s ingrained in every shaking movement of your body, but your bones know this song and you step forwards inside the room.

You don’t owe pretenses or forced smiles. You don’t have to hide. You can do this and leave unchanged.

_You are stronger now._

You repeat this mantra to yourself until you finally detect her, sitting idly on a chair on the balcony. Her appearance is so different from the last time you saw her when she threw you into prison. Gone is the topknot she would always wear regardless of the time of the day, and there is not one drop of makeup on her face. Not even lipstick.

She seems… relaxed, a word you would have never associated with her before. Then again, it’s been almost two years since you last saw her— a lot of things can change in that time.

_You are stronger now._

You sit on the chair next to her. She doesn’t turn her head to look at you. You take a deep breath.

“Hi, Azula” you say.

She hears you and stares at you.

“Hello” she addresses you.

Your conversation is short and clipped, impregnated by extended silent periods, but there are no lies or manipulation or schemes, and some of the prior tension leaves your body. You ponder if this it’s how it was always supposed to feel like. You shake the thought off your head really fast; she is in the past, and it’s better if it stays like that. However, you still have one lingering question that has been haunting your mind for the last couple of weeks building up to this moment.

“Azula,” you call her name. “Do you think…”, you hesitate for a moment but your resolve it’s sturdier than your apprehension, and you ask, “did I mean something to you?”.

Your voice comes out weaker and more insecure that you hoped for, but the question it’s already out there and that is what matters.

Her eyes are downcast; you can no longer detect the maliciousness in them. “I think so?” she admits, “I’m not sure”.

You interlace your fingers with hers and hold her hand tight. She needs some reassurance and you offer it to her, while at the same time making the promise to yourself to not give more than this.

Conversation flows easier afterwards, and when the sun starts to hide behind the forestry near the shore, you decide it’s time to go. She doesn’t protest or try to coax you into staying longer.

You linger in her hug. “I hope you get better. I really do” you whisper into her ear and hope she understand you mean it.

Her hold tightens for a second and then you part.

The bad blood between the two of you begins clearing into white nothingness.

-

You take the rest of the day off.

You are drinking a cup of jasmine tea, sitting on the edge of the balcony of your room with one leg crossed beneath your arm and the other one limp, hanging on the outer side. You take a sip, tasting the subtle sweetness and delighting in the intoxicating floral aroma. The liquid burns a little on the back of your throat but it’s a comforting type of heat, one that reminds you of a morning sun.

Your mind goes back at your conversation with Azula, how you wanted some sort of certainty coming out of her mouth. However, what you remember the most, was what you felt right after she gave you her dubious answer: nothing. You didn’t start to question yourself or what you were doing and saying. She can’t give you a proper explanation, but you don’t need one anymore.

Maybe there is no exciting or dramatic resolution at the end of everything; maybe there is no clear answer to your questions. But you think that maybe, as you take another sip of your tea while staring at the orange and lilac of the sky, maybe you finally feel free.

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on 'Gravity' by Sara Bareilles.


End file.
